


All my tears be washed away

by turmawen



Category: Cursed (TV 2020)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:07:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27595925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turmawen/pseuds/turmawen
Summary: The reader is a Fey healer of a peaceful village where people and Fey live along. Lancelot and Percival find their way near the village and you take care of Lancelot's wounds. A pretty basic plot, to be honest.Rated M for some future bed scenesSet after the end of season 1
Relationships: Squirrel | Percival & The Weeping Monk | Lancelot (Cursed), The Weeping Monk | Lancelot (Cursed)/You, The weeping monk | Lancelot (Cursed)/Reader, You & OC, You & Squirrel | Percival (Cursed)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 32





	1. Chapter 1

He was so tired. How many days has it been since he took the boy and his horse and left the camp? Since he killed the Trinity Guard soldiers. Since he betrayed his brothers for... his kin, his brothers by blood. Five days. Five long days with the boy and his wounds on the road. He wasn't tired, he was exhausted. They barely slept four hours per night to get as far away as possible.

"Hey," the boy, Percival, said in his direction, but he could barely keep his eyes open. It was night and they were sitting near the fire and eating what the boy could get. He was dependant on Percival, he wouldn't be able to catch or even collect anything. His mind was slowly slipping away until all became dark and cold around him. 

* * *

"Oy! What...?!" 

Squirrel yelled at the man he travelled with just as he went down. Squirrel had no idea if he collapsed from the exhaustion or the wounds, but he got very scared of what he would do without him. As much as the man wronged and hurt his people and even himself, there was something redeemable and good about him. As he tried to wake the laying man up, he noticed his uncovered skin turning leaf green. No, it mimicked the leaf. Squirrel frowned. He heard the Trinity Guard hinting heavily that The Weeping Monk is of Fey kind but the boy could barely believe it. Until now.

A nearby rustling in the woods made Squirrel turn quickly.

"Who's there?" he asked loudly. The rustling intensified and Squirrel drew his dagger out. He would fight whoever would come to harm them, he wasn't afraid. He wasn't expecting a young woman, all alone, coming from behind the trees and bushes.

* * *

You were on your weekly route through the woods to collect some herbs and mushrooms. It seemed to be an average and uneventful evening but as you were searching for crowfoot and moonstone you noticed some light nearby. Fire. Someone was camping there. You got scared for a second, telling your self idiot for not listing to Leiffe to bring some muscles with you to the woods in the evening. Your worries quickly disappeared when you heard a child's voice calling out loudly.

You cautiously approached until you saw a young boy with a knife in his hand. After a while you noticed the second person, a man, laying on the ground. 

"Who are you?" the boy asked warily and maybe a bit too aggressively. From what you could tell about the man's injuries, he had a good reason.

"I'm a healer from the nearby village," you answered calmly. The boy lowered his weapon slowly.

"Born in the dawn," he started and you smiled at that.

"To pass in the twilight," you finished and felt a bit more secure when you found out the boy's Fey. "Now let me take a look at your friend here."

The boy nodded once but you could still feel his uneasiness. You found out why soon enough. The man laying on the ground was none other than the infamous Weeping Monk. You frowned and turned back to the boy.

"He..."

"He saved my life," the boy said protectively. You nodded and turned back to the injured man. You examined him and with a sigh, you turned back to the boy again.

"You sure you want me to save him?" you asked seriously.

"He saved me," he said again, this time weakly and defeatedly. "He's one of us," the boy whispered brokenly. You gaped at him.

"You mean..."

"He's our brother," the boy stated a bit more firmly this time.

You exhaled heavily and your mind was conjuring different scenarios, reasons why he did what he did, you even tried to come up with a good reason you should help him other than the fact that he was Fey... and saved the boy. Okay, maybe it could be enough to treat his wounds. 

"I'll be back, I have to take some stuff from the village. Stay with him and try to get rid of the clothes carefully, I'll need access to the wounds."

He was eager to do whatever you asked him to and with a nod he quickly got to the work. You half-went and half-ran back to the village and took only the absolute necessities so you could be quick on your feet. Leiffe, your childhood friend was softly snoring in her bed and thankfully didn't wake up. In a few minutes you were back, thankful the man and the boy decided to set a camp so close to your usual route and you found them easily even with the last bit of daylight out. 

The monk was already bare-chested and you could fully see the extent of his injuries. It was bad.

"How long has he been like this?" you asked and started to clean the wounds with some camomile tincture. 

"He fought the Trinity Guard five days ago. We didn't stop much since then," the boy answered. You hissed at his answer. This was bad indeed.

"In the name of the Hidden! It's very infected." You looked around your self and searched for... then it occurred to you. "You have a knife on yourself, right? Put the iron in the fire, I'm afraid there's no other way to disinfect at this point."

The boy obeyed, his face clearly telling you he knew what was about happen. In your frenzy, you forgot to check the man's temperature. Damn it, he was burning up. 

"I need something to bite into..." you said aloud and the boy took it as his next task thankfully. White willow bark, yarrow, honey, hibiscus... you hastily made the concoction and then gently raised the monk's head and poured it down his throat. His eyes fluttered open and you almost jumped for joy.

"Great, stay with me, okay?"

"Who...?" he tried to ask but was too weak.

"I'm a healer, Y/N, I'm trying to save your life so be a little helpful and try to stay awake. What's your name?" you asked as you were used to from treating other patients but soon realised, this one might not be so keen on sharing such a detail.

"Lancelot," he whispered, the sound barely audible as his heavy eyelids were closing again.

"Lancelot, nice to meet you, though I wish the circumstances were more pleasant." Did you? You never imagined you would want to meet this guy. He obviously shared the doubt.

"I don't... don't think... you'd want to meet me."

You smiled at him and caught his eyes. He had beautiful and sad eyes. The work wasn't going to wait and you turned back to the task at hand.

"You're up!" the boy said loudly.

"Yeah... it seems so," Lancelot answered. I looked up at the boy and nodded at him. He understood and went for the knife. "Careful, the hilt can be hot too," you managed to say with your back to him and the fire. Then you focused on the monk.

"Lancelot, bite down on this," you said and handed him the piece of wood enfolded in linen cloth the boy put next to you before. The monk inhaled sharply but did as he was told. "Good, well done. I don't need you to be conscious for this one, I would actually rather you to not be, so if you were holding up, you can stop now. I don't really expect you to stay with us long after I begin."

He nodded but his clenched jaw was telling you a different story. He was definitely a stubborn one.

"Okay, let's do it," you said to brace yourself and gave him a warning before you put the hot knife to his side, near the end of his ribcage. He screamed in pain and in no time passed out. You prayed to the Gods and the Hidden to save him. If only for the sake of the boy whose face grimaced at the man's screams.

* * *

Lancelot felt the burning pain and in a few moments his mind gave in but right before that could happen, he conjured up a face of the peculiar healer who was willing to help him. In the darkness of his mind, he dreamed of the past. He saw all the pain he caused and all the things he'd done. All of it just so he would belong. Just to feel the presence of the all-mighty God. In his delirious state, he realised the only time he ever felt the presence of God was when he was saving the young Fey boy and killing the Trinity Guard. He felt His strength and the resolution, which settled in his chest was almost other-worldly.

Out of nowhere, the omnipresent darkness of his thoughts was interrupted by cleansing silver light. He felt salvation, though he had no idea, how he earned it. In the next moment, he woke up to searing pain. 

"Stay calm, soldier. You need to rest," he heard a soft voice. He knew that voice and turned his head to it and willed his eyes to open. He blinked once to clear the haze and focused his gaze at you. 

"You," he rasped hoarsely and tried to move up from the laying position. You put your hand on his chest and pushed resolutely.

"Oh, no, monk, you're not moving. It would only ruin my work."

He wanted to protest but another voice cut in.

"Is he going to be okay?" Squirrel asked worriedly and the man's heart tightened. No one has ever expressed such worry over his well-being.

"He'll survive," you said with certainty to calm and reassure the boy. "Stay with him. No food, but if he's responsive, try to make him drink some water. I'll fetch some men from the village to relocate him into a bed."

You were about to get up but firm hold on your wrist stopped you and you looked back at the monk. He was frowning. Normally you would think it's from pain but the urgency in his eyes was clearly sending you the message. He was worried about the men you wanted to bring.

"Be still. They are good men, I promise. I wouldn't let them hurt you after pouring so much energy into healing you."

He drew his hand back reluctantly, but he did it anyway and you were free to run to the village. You noticed it's near dawn and a surge of tiredness hit you as you came to the village's entry. The uneasiness of getting someone strong enough to help, but not too hot-headed. You could think of three men which fitted the description and hoped they would be enough to carry the man since you had no stretcher and making one would take too long.

Once you gathered the yawning and slightly irritated men, you lead them through the woods.

"Now, he's a wounded man so try to be as gentle as possible. There was a boy, travelling with him and he would need someplace to stay, the man would probably stay with me to have constant medical care."

Rowen, the only human hunter in your village, said he had a place for one young lad if there'd be no one else willing. He noted the boy would probably feel better elsewhere since hunters are barely at home and he doesn't live with anybody. You expressed your thanks none-the-less.

The whole party came to the destination and you carefully observed the reactions of the men. They all stopped in their tracks, Crispin, young blacksmith apprentice frowned, but Rowen and Heggen, a Fey who taught the volunteers how to yield weaponry and fight, didn't seem to be fazed.

"Who are they?" the boy asked and you only then became aware you didn't know the boy's name. 

"They will bring Lancelot to the village where I'll be able to give him better treatment," you answered and looked at the mentioned man. His eyes were intensely studying the men behind you.

"I'll be fine," he said stubbornly, but his voice was raspy. Your eyes shot to the waterskin but before you could move in its direction, the boy who was watching how the situation unfolded, noticed your gaze and grabbed it quickly to bring it to Lancelot.

"He was out before you came," he said almost apologetically as if he failed somehow. You smiled and nodded at him to proceed and give the man some water. 

"Carefully, we wouldn't want your stitches to tear apart," you couldn't help but say when you saw how parched the man was and how he gulped down the water. "Now, let's get to it."

You were met with yet another of Lancelot's stubborn replies and you had about just enough.

"You're my patient now, and you'll do as you're said. So stop complaining and be grateful here," you gritted through your teeth menacingly. Heggen behind you chuckled.

"I wouldn't get into a fight with this one, she's a wild beast once irritated," he added afterwards and Rowen only grunted in agreement. You turned to glare at them, which only made them chuckle but at least they got to the work at hand and started towards the laying man. Crispin gave you an uncertain look and you couldn't really blame him but you needed to be quick.

"No worries, I know what I'm doing. Just help me get him to my house safely."

The young apprentice, barely a man, nodded and though he wasn't so sure about the whole thing, he went to help.

* * *

Once at your house, you navigated the men towards your own bed since the one meant for patients was currently occupied by Leiffe. That girl just did whatever she wanted and it wasn't weird for her to spend a night at your place. 

"Leiffe," you woke her up gently. She wasn't exactly pleased by that. "Hey, it's morning and I need you to leave today." That stirred her awake. You never kicked her out if you didn't need the other bed for a patient. 

"I'll pack myself out in a minute," she said and got to the work in her sleeping clothes which didn't go unnoticed by the men in your house.

"Hey, no ogling. Thank you for the help but I think you should leave now," you said sternly to them and watched the men show different reactions. Poor young Crispin went beet red for getting caught red-handed and quickly scurried away. Heggen said some lewd remark about getting some reward for the work and then laughed loudly as he went out. Rowen's stare lingered a bit longer and he left without any comment or change of expression. Interesting.

"Oy, boy, what's your name?" you asked Lancelot's companion finally.

"Squirrel," he answered and you chuckled.

"That's not a proper name," you said and raised one eyebrow. He frowned.

"Percival," he relented unwillingly.

"Well, Percival, Leiffe here is my good friend and she'll go around the village to find you two a place to sleep in. Rowen offered a place to stay for one. You need one more."

Leiffe and Percival were both about to protest but you wouldn't have any of it.

"Now, I have a patient here and no time to argue with you two, so pack your things and find a place to stay at and someone to feed you," you said sternly and turned from them to your room. They had no chance but to go out with pouty faces.

* * *

"That's what I get for being a loyal friend and constant companion, being thrown onto the streets without as much as a goodbye," Leiffe murmured.

"Tch, like I couldn't sleep on the floor. Lancelot needs me there and she just threw me out," Squirrel said in the same fashion. Both of them were rambling on as they simply went around the village with no intention to ask for the roof over their head. After all, it was still early in the morning, there was time to worry about those things later.

* * *

You went into your room and checked upon Lancelot's wounds. It wasn't exactly pretty but thanks to your prompt help and some of your own little Fey magic he was healing. With a deep sigh, you sat down to a chair, your whole body was exhausted. The magic, however small amount you used, always took its toll on you and you haven't slept since you got up yesterday. In a few minutes, you were out and fell into a deep slumber.

A sudden noise, which sounded way too much as a man's grunt, woke you up only for you to see Lancelot trying to get off his bed. You jumped from your seat immediately, which only made him react with his fast reflexes automatically and made him groan even more.

"You fool! Do you think I fixed you up for you to completely ruin my work again?!" you seethed as you quickly pushed him back into the cushions. He grabbed your wrist with force but you didn't even flinch. You were used to delirious patients who could get touchy or rough during feverish states.

"Let me go and rest," you said with a taught authority and schooled emotionless face. Lancelot didn't believe that face one bit even though he knew you probably just saved his life.

"Where's Percival?" he asked with gritted teeth, the pain in his voice masked but still obvious.

"He's looking for a place to stay at in the village. He should be fine, many Fey families would gladly welcome him. The war took its toll on some of the younglings too," you finished sadly and quietly as you recalled some of the Fey children who wandered far from the village and were kidnapped or some of them found torn apart. One was found burned on a cross, at least supposedly. The body wasn't even recognizable. That memory brought your attention back to the man, currently in your bed.

"You hate me," he stated but there was a storm in his eyes as if he was edgy to hear you say something.

"I do," you said slowly and thoughtfully while looking him in the eyes, "and I don't." His inner turmoil was outwardly shown only by his clenching fist on the bed which you didn't notice as you were studying his face.

"What does it mean?" he asked softly.

"I can't get over what you had done. At the same time, you saved the boy, you're one of us and..." you fell silent after that and turned your gaze to the floor but he was still looking at you intently to continue.

"And?" he asked after a while when you still hadn't said anything. You exhaled and let your shoulders slump ever so slightly.

"And I can only imagine what must have happened to you..." you traced off again as you reestablished the eye-contact and took a deep breath in. "What must have happened to you to become... this," you finished.

"A monster," he said and you frowned at the self-hatred which was palpable in his voice.

"No, not a monster. A broken man."

* * *

You thought the man was difficult while awake but as it turned out he was even more of a burden while sleeping. At night you thought you'd finally rest and sleep in your bed but in the middle of the night, you were woken up by sad wails which quickly turned to broken screams. You went out of your bed with haste, thinking, perhaps, one of the villagers deemed it justice to end the man's life. In your bedroom you found the man in a delirious state, kicking and tossing, screaming. There was a flow of cuss words coming from your mouth when you saw the damage he has already done to his injuries.

You shook his shoulder in a desperate attempt to wake him up and yelled over his agonising screams. It didn't work and so you resolved to less... ethical ways and slapped him hard across his face. That might have worked too well because his eyes flew open and he grabbed your wrist with an iron grip. In his half-sleeping state, he pulled you on the bed and turned to pin you down. He was breathing heavily and you were staring at him in horror. 

Your front door opened with great force and noise and you quickly got off the bed. Luckily the man was sensible enough again, to let you go, and you just managed to get out of the bed and stand a step away as Cavanaugh, the closest neighbour to your house, entered.

"Are you okay, what's going on here?" he asked you and eyed the heaving monk, who was still on his four, with suspicion.

"Thank you, Cav, he's just... delirious. It was a nightmare and I had to wake him up. Nothing to worry about, normal stuff," you tried to say and keep any trebling from your voice. 

"Are you sure he didn't try anything funny on you?"

"I'm sure. I'll make him some calming herb tea and we'll go back to sleeping, don't worry."

He stayed a while, watching the monk who finally seemed to calm down enough to shift the weight of his body from his arms to his legs and he was kneeling on the bed, probably still too out of it to realise his back is turned to the door, where Cavanaugh stood. 

"Damn... did those bastards did it to him?" Cav whispered and that was the wake up for the monk and he quickly turned with a hateful expression.

"Cav... I think you should go. He's... a bit sensitive about those, so if you could, don't mention it to anyone."

He scoffed as if to say he owes him no such courtesies. 

"Please, it would really make _my_ work easier right now," you begged him and only then he exhaled with compliance.

"Very well, good night then."

"Thank you and good night to you too. I hope we didn't rouse your children from sleep."

"Nah," he said as he left.

There was a moment's silence and then you moved towards the kitchen but was promptly stopped by a hand on your wrist. You winced, your wrist was getting really bruised and sensitive. He noticed and let go immediately. 

"Why are you helping me?"

You sighed.

"I'll make a tea for both of us and we can talk about it then," you said with no space for argument and left the room. 

When you came back, he was sitting in the bed, his back against the headboard. He was inspecting his torn stitches. You groaned and he looked up to see you giving him a cup of something hot.

"Here, drink it. It fights away nightmares and ensures restless sleep. I made one for each of us because The Hidden know how much I need this with you in the house," you complained.

"Gets me back to why are you doing this," he said and carefully took the cup.

"Beats me, but I guess the adorable boy who's dependant on you plays a big part in it."

You laughed at his expression.

"You should really drink it. I promise it's not a poison."

"Yeah, you wouldn't poison me after all the trouble you had stitching me up," he said with a hint of sarcasm and you laughed again. You never would have thought that the infamous Weeping Monk could be a tease.

"Exactly." You drank the hot beverage in companionable silence for a while. 

"If you'd like to talk-"

"No, some things are better unsaid."

You thought about it.

"Better for who? Definitely not you."

He gazed into your eyes, his ashen tears especially notable in the dark. You put your cup aside and came closer to him.

"I should look at those torn stitches. Less work in the morning," you tried to explain and got to work. Somehow the incident of his waking up made you hyper-aware of his body now. Your fingers brushed lightly across the wounds and your eyes watched the ripples of his muscles as you touched him. When you brushed a wound near his abdomen you notice a shiver run through him and your eyes locked with his. For a painfully long moment, everything was absolutely still. Then he frowned.

"You should leave, my mind and body are sinful and shameless right now," he said with a hoars voice and he admission made your heart skip a beat but at the same time, you felt sad for this man who was taught to think of himself as lesser.

"People are sinful and shameless. We can't be blamed for being born a certain way, we can only learn to control the urges and know what's good and whatnot."

He was looking at you.

"God made us faulty and we shall aim to be faultless."

"I know the scripture, monk. It also says that God made us to his image and his likeness."

"But the original sin puts a shadow over the Imago Dei."

"To kill is one of the Ten Commandments. Yet, the Red Paladins kill us."

"You are spawns of the devil."

"We are all God's creation. Or are you saying Devil is as strong as your God? Capable of creating beings so alike God's creation?"

"We are an abomination!" he yelled but you smiled.

" _We_ are no such thing. We have families, we promise loyalty and love to each other, we love and care for our children. Where are the evil deeds we do?" 

You knew he needed you to persuade him. He left, so this was just a momentum of his previous life. He needed to realise how ridiculous it all was and he needed you to push him over the figurative edge.

"Our magic, our abilities."

"They are just properties, not deeds. We were born this way and in a way we are closer to God then humans are. That's why they envy us because our abilities are too close to God."

"That's heresy!" he gritted out. 

"Is it? I thought we established from the beginning that we are all created in God's likeness and image. We just resemble him more than humans and they are jealous. Envy is one of the capital vices is it not?" 

He looked at you with jaw tightly shut.

"Where did you learn all this?" 

"This village is full of peace-loving people, humans and Fey. We don't discriminate each other's faith and abilities. There's a small chapel where those who believe, go say their prayers."

Lancelot was stubbornly holding onto the last pieces of his older life, because the possibility of a new one, sacred him. He feared he would have to lose his faith completely but you were in front of him, a Fey girl, telling him he could have his faith and fight for his kin. He was awed and felt an absolution coming to him. How ironic was it to find it in a Fey girl's words?

He felt tears running down his face.

"I'm unlovable," he sobbed painfully and you frowned at that. His eyes were downcasted and you put your hand on his face and raised it up so he would look at you. You had no idea where this came from but there was no way you would let him drown in self-hatred.

"Lancelot, a man can always change. You were made to believe you're unlovable by a man who's not capable of love."

The monk wanted to believe you so desperately.

"How can you be sure?" 

"Because I believe that Percival actually loves you very much. I'm sure he saw something in you and I'm starting to understand what it is, slowly. Maybe, with time, even more people will be able to see the good man, that is hopefully inside you. I'll try, for sure."

* * *

After the first night, you made sure that Lancelot would drink a cup of a calming tea before sleep and you had at least the nights to yourself. Percival came every day and stayed as long as he could with the patient and you watched with a small smile the interactions between the boy and the man.

After a week, Lancelot looked way better and stronger, which made him think, he can go out of bed. While you were out at the market to buy some food supplies, he went out to train with Percival. When you found out, your mouth gaping at them, they quickly stopped but it was too late and lashed at them both for being irresponsible children. They both looked like scolded children. 

"If I see this again before I _say_ that you can leave you bed, you'd better hope your God is watching over you because you'll need it!" you said furiously and saw him flinch at the mention of God. Damn, he would make you feel guilty when he was the one at wrong!

"Inside! Now!"

"But-" Percival tried but one look from you made him shut up.

* * *

Another week went by and the villagers finally stopped asking you about him and stopped telling you how dangerous he is. Unfortunately, nothing could stay still for a while and an expedition for food and merchandise came back bruised and beaten, some barely alive and you had to work relentlessly for a whole day, going from house to house as there were too many of them to fit them into your small cabin. 

When you finally came back home, it was far into the night and you came so tired, you had no energy left to look at Lancelot. In your mind, you felt like you forgot about something but couldn't figure out, what it was. Lancelot was well enough and he could do without a day's check-up.

You were reminded of what you forgot when screams woke you up. The tea, damn it. You quickly went to Lancelot and without even trying to be gentle, you slapped him, this time you quickly retreated your hand so he couldn't grab you but that made his frantic mind even more alert, thinking that he's opposing stronger opponent. He jumped out of the bed and grabbed your neck, roughly pushing you into the wall. You lost a breath and you were sure that with his firm grip on your neck you didn't have long. Luckily, he came to himself and let go of you with horror in his face.

You fell down to your knees and coughed, trying to catch your breath.

"What have I done?" you heard him whisper and you wanted to assure him everything's fine but you were far from it. Then you heard him move around frantically and when you looked at him, you saw him taking his clothes and belongings. He was packing.

"Lancelot," you croaked out and he stopped. You knew he wouldn't mind your pleas to stay and so you tried a different tactic. "I need... I need you to help me," you got out of yourself before another fit of coughing took over you. Lancelot watched your desperate form and he knew he couldn't leave you like this and so he stopped his packing, let the things fall down from his arms and came to kneel next to you. He watched your shaking form a moment and decided to bring you to the bed.

You felt his warm arms around your trembling body and he swept you from the floor so easily, though he was bed-ridden for two weeks, you couldn't but admire his strength. He put you down carefully and covered you with a blanket.

"Water," you wheezed and he nodded quickly, running out of the room.

"Here." He was so intense. His demeanour, his face, the look in his eyes. You were transfixed for a moment before you took the offered glass of water and gulped down three careful draughts. 

"Thank you," you whispered after clearing your throat. You sounded better. He frowned and was about to leave but you caught his hand.

"Lancelot, don't run away."

"I could have killed you," he whispered, almost like a ghost.

"You didn't. You stopped. It was my fault really, I forgot to make your tea."

"I cannot be dependant on a tea to not hurt people," he gritted out and his whole body was tense.

"No, you can't. But some healing needs more time than others."

You shimmied to one half of the bed and uncovered the blanket in an inviting gesture.

"Come here," you said and his eyes widened almost comically. You laughed but it made your throat hurt and made you wince.

"It's nothing that scary, Lancelot," you tried to lighten the mood.

"It's a sin. We shouldn't share a bed."

It was your time to stare at him.

"Ehm... Lancelot... sharing a bed and _sharing a bed_ might be two very different things. Your church uses 'sharing a bed' for-"

"I know for what it's used. Doesn't make this any more moral. And... I just tried to kill you. How can you invite me to your bed?" he asked incredulously. Lancelot was confused. And, honestly, a bit afraid. He had many sinful thoughts about you and he was scared to share your bed with you. He feared he would be too weak to resist his urges. He knew very well that some of his brothers weren't too diligent in keeping the celibacy and he heard and even saw more than he'd like to. Those noises and images came back to him now, as he was gazing upon you.

"Lancelot," you whispered, "just come here and let me hold you."

He made a tentative step your way and stopped. Then he made another. You knew he needed some time to process but your arm started to hurt from keeping the blanket up.

"Lust is a deadly sin," he said. "Covetousness and adultery against the Decalogue."

"We Fey don't use these words. There's no lust, there's desire. We know no covetousness, just want. And most importantly, there's no adultery, just love-making. Isn't love the greatest good? Isn't it a tool to create children? Aren't they a gift in our lives?" 

Lancelot gulped down his protests because he knew they would be empty. 

"And don't worry, I won't do anything to you," you said with all seriousness but Lancelot scoffed and his eyes darkened.

"It's you who should be worried," he said and closed the distance to the bed, slipping under the blanket next to you. You smiled a bit shyly and took his head in your hands, then moved to nest it against your chest. Lancelot was stunned into silence and he couldn't comprehend what was going on. But the soft feeling of your breasts against his face made him very comfortable for some reason. You weaved your hands through his hair and stroke his head slowly.

There was a silence in the room and you were both a bit unsure of what was going on but the routine made you feel sleepy eventually. You even started to hum softly a foreign tone for the monk, yet somehow very familiar.

"What song is it?" he asked softly and sleepily and you answer just like that.

"It's one of many Fey lullabies."

"Hmm..." he said and let the soft tune lull him into sleep.

* * *

The next morning you were woken up by a sniggering. You opened your eyes just as you felt another body stir next to you. 

Percival was standing in your room with Leiffe and they were both looking at you. Leiffe was the sniggering one, while Percival was frowning, maybe even pouting.

"So now I know why I can't stay here at night," he said and you felt the quick movement next to you when he spoke and only then you realised you were in bed with Lancelot and your face immediately turned red.

"Percival," you heard Lancelot.

"Yeah, I don't care, whatever. Just meet me outside for training."

"Sure," he said and Percival left. Leiffe stayed behind and once the boy exited the cabin she started to laugh.

"Poor boy, he was so stunned when I came here!"

You groaned.

"Not funny, Leiffe! Nothing happened."

"Sure, so this is some new healing technique?" she asked ironically but it made you look at Lancelot and he too slowed down his hasty dressing.

"The nightmares," you whispered and Lancelot looked at you, his stare a scorching one. How he could do that with his piercing blue eyes, you had no idea. You started to think about your next approach after this revelation and completely tuned out so you didn't even notice Lancelot leaving and Leiffe too after a while when she tried to communicate with you but without any luck.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I'm SUPER late and I'm so sorry 🙏, but I write another story where I post daily and it's been kinda hard to get to this 😁 I also suffered from writer's block a bit... couldn't phrase what I wanted to write accurately 😅
> 
> Anyway, I hope, you'll enjoy it! 💕

Lancelot had a hard time concentrating on teaching Percival but the boy couldn't really tell since he was a complete beginner. Luckily. The monk was thinking about his nightmares, or rather the lack of, about the night he spent in your arms, or rather in your bosom. About your soft humming, your caresses. He... desired you. The word still sounded too much like lust in his head and he couldn't help but think that you were a spawn of Satan sent to seduce him. Your words were clever, yes, but the actions you took... 

"Hey, are you sleeping still?" the boy hollered and Lancelot snapped back to the present. 

"I'm just thinking."

"Abot the medic?" Percival frowned. "Are you...?" 

Lancelot frowned too. How could he explain himself to this boy?

"Nothing happened, I just had a bad night."

Percival bore his eyes into him but nodded and they proceeded with the training.

* * *

"Y/N!" you heard a loud male's voice, which interrupted your research. Damn those useless books! Not many healing practices were described concerning man's mind. You looked up and saw Heggen, parading in your room with a huge grin.

"I have a question. That patient of yours, is he fit enough to spar? Like really spar, not just train the kiddo."

You frowned.

"He might be, why?" you asked cautiously.

"I want to ask him to help me with training. The lad has some serious skills, and it would be a shame to not use them."

Your frown deepened but you gave it careful thought.

"Ask him. I'll allow it if he feels like it but no longer than an hour per day."

Heggen nodded frivolously as if he barely heard the warning in your voice.

"I mean it, Heggen, he can't strain himself too much. His wounds, the exhaustion and infection took its toll on his body."

"Ye, ye, lass, no need to worry."

He left with a jovial stride and you sighed. This was getting complicated. You suddenly remembered your errand around the village's wounded and quickly gathered your things.

* * *

Percival was aimlessly walking around the village. It was bigger than his own, now destroyed one, but it still felt small after his time in the safe haven with the other Feys. He was getting restless, he's a knight. He should be defending his people and fight, not rot away in this place.

"Percival, good to see you. I wanted to ask you, have you seen Lancelot? He was supposed to be back at my cottage two hours ago for a rebandaging, but he didn't show up," you asked the boy and he frowned. He didn't like you, that much was clear.

"I don't know where he is, after the morning training he disappeared somewhere," the boy said bitterly. You thought of something.

"Maybe you'd like to join our training if you're not too tired? Heggen is teaching some of us on the rocky plain, south-east of the village. You could join if you were interested."

The boy's eyes lightened up significantly, eager to learn some more.

"Thanks," he mumbled and ran off. You had to smile how the little things could make one happy.

* * *

After his morning exercise with Percival, Lancelot went around the village, trying o stay out of the more visible and frequent places, but at the same time, the soldier in him felt the need to get to know his surroundings. Just in case.

It wasn't a huge settlement, but it had, apart from houses, a small market space, and something which could be a called a square. Eventually, he arrived in front of a building with a cross. House of the Lord. He recalled you talked about a chapel and with curiosity and fear, he proceeded to it, only to stop a few steps in front of the door. Unlike many other such buildings he saw, this one wasn't so spectacular and grand. It seemed rather down-to-earth, practical, not too boastful. It felt that much more serene. 

"No need to fear, we don't bite," he heard a deep, cracky voice behind him and turned to an old man with apparel. A man of faith. The horror in his eyes made the old man chuckled.

"Seriously, I wouldn't hurt a fly. I long since renounced the practices of the Holy See and Pontifex Maximus."

"You renounced his Holiness, the Pope?" Lancelot asked with awe and mistrust. "Did you renounce our God?" he asked this question with confusion. The man was still serving, obviously, and in the Holy Place too...

"Those are two different things. I don't believe our Lord wants us to kill the innocent lives of Fey."

"But His Holiness-"

"Is just a man. And men can be wrong. We are faulty that way. But the teachings of our Lord are absolute. Tell me, son, when you read scripture, don't you find conflict between how you and how the church understand it?"

Lancelot had to admit that it happened many times but he always persuaded himself that Father Carden had more knowledge and so his interpretation must be the correct one. 

"Come inside and search for the truth," the man encouraged him with a soft smile. Lancelot has never seen such a warm smile upon any of his brothers or the fathers he got to know.

He entered the building coyly, afraid that lightning would strike him in the doorstep. Nonesuch thing happened but he was frozen to the place. This was not the usual House of God. There were no golden artefacts, no marble altar, no breathtaking paintings or woodwork. It was plain and simple.

"Do you think our Lord is humble? He teaches us to be, do you think he's taking his own advice?" the man asked as if he could read Lancelot's thoughts. It was an interesting question. 

"He's great, does he need to be humble?" he asked instead.

"Hmm... do you think that kings shouldn't do what they ask of their people?"

"Kings are just men."

"But men need to follow the example. That's why the Lord sent us his son to teach us his ways properly and to make the biggest sacrifice for us."

Lancelot was lost for words. Was there a way to defy this man? Or you for that matter. People in this village certainly spewed wisdom left and right. But they were able to live in harmony and peace, that was a good thing, was it not?

"I killed in his name and I'm afraid... afraid that if I admit I was wrong, I'll be forever damned."

Lancelot was trembling and the older man watched him mos carefully. 

"The Lord is forgiving. If you really repent the sins you've committed, you shall find your way to redemption. But can you hope to find it if you stay on the wrong path?"

Lancelot shook his head. This place was like a gate toward new opportunities. A new life, a better life.

"Stay however long you need to, son. Ask our Heavenly Father and listen carefully to what he whispers back."

Lancelot felt a tear slide down his face. He kneeled down and prayed.

"I haven't felt his presence for a long time," he admitted in shame. The man of cloth smiled sorrowfully.

"Shouldn't that be His greatest sign for you? Isn't that a lead enough for you to know you're on the wrong path?"

Lancelot kneeled in the small chapel with tears running down his face as he asked for forgiveness, for a sign to tell him what to believe, for a way to become a better man. He prayed as if it was his last day on Earth.

* * *

As you could see the sun setting behind the trees, you were getting more anxious about Lancelot and his sudden disappearance. You went for another stroll through the village, paying some visits to the more wounded patients and check on them. There was no sign of Lancelot anywhere but as you thought about going back home, you noticed the old man sweeping the stone floor in front of the House of Lord. You directed your steps to him.

"Good evening, father," you said and he smiled at you.

"Looking for the lad? He's inside. I think his consciousness is troubled and heavied by his past misdeeds."

You nodded and went inside. He was kneeling, his lips moving quickly, but the sound was too muted down, a breath of a whisper. It felt almost wrong to disturb him but it must be done in order to check on his wounds. You came to him carefully, but you tried to make some noise so he'd notice you first. You put a hand on his shoulders and from the jerk of his body and frantic reaction, he hadn't heard you coming. 

"Lancelot," you whispered. "It's almost nighttime, I need to check on your wounds. Come," you said and stretched your hand towards him. He eyed it carefully and decided to stand up without taking it. You sighed but let your hand fall down and led him out. Lancelot wasn't exactly sure what to do or say, so he was quiet and just followed. He wanted to apologize again to you but he felt many eyes on him as they went through the village, which was less crowded in the evening so more people focused on him. 

"You don't really answer to me but I'd really appreciate it if you could bother yourself as much as to tell me where you're going next time. I was worried you were unconscious somewhere, God knows where!" you were loudly huffing at the end, your day's frustrations seeping through. Lancelot wasn't in the presence of women often and those he did encounter were pious and obedient nuns who never as much as dared to raise their voice at him. There was a strange sensation running through his body when you were scolding him. A thrill accompanied by an ounce of shame. 

"I'm sorry, I merely lost track of time."

You looked at him and sighed.

"Don't let it be a recurring issue," you murmured and he felt a twitch of his right corner. Your anger was somewhat amusing, not like the silent fury of Father Carden, demonstrated by physical abuse. This was loud and very emotional but there was no hint of malice and it almost warmed Lancelot's heart.

"Where's Percival?" he asked to change the topic. You let out a puff of air.

"Training. Looks like you're not enough for him. Speaking of... Heggen came with a proposition for you. He'd like you to help him with the evening training. I gave my permission, as long it won't be too strenuous and you take good care of yourself but the final decision is yours, of course."

Lancelot gave it a thought. He wasn't really sure but maybe teaching these people how to protect themselves, was why he was there. Maybe Lord didn't forsake him and showed him another path his life could take. Peaceful, repenting for his past crimes. It didn't sound too bad to Lancelot. 

"I'll be glad to assist, but wouldn't the villagers care about my presence?"

You scoffed in mock amusement.

"Would they care? Of course, they would. It's up to you to show them what you're really made of," you said and tried to instil as much importance to your voice as possible. The first encounter with the people, real encounter, not just passing by, could possibly be the difference between him staying in the village and being shunned or even sentenced to death. 

You just entered your humble home and went straight to your bedroom to inspect his wounds. Lancelot took off his shirt with no apparent hardships and laid down. You came to him and took a closer look. Most of his wounds looked very good. More than good even. There was one, a strange scratch on his lower back, that made you frown. You didn't pay it much attention since there were far more pressing matters to take care of but this seemed to be either getting infected oo it was inflicted by something poisonous. 

You touched the angry red spot carefully. Soft. You applied more pressure and heard a small hiss as a streak of a bad-smelling liquid came out of the wound. Infection or poison? You came closer to smell it better. No recognizable poison at least but it didn't really smell like rotten flesh. 

"What?" Lancelot asked after ou ade no other move and just stared at the wound in contemplation. He didn't like your silence and there was something fairly wrong about this small wound. 

"I don't know... might be an infection but... also could be poison... I don't know how to proceed here..." you admitted still ruminating about it.

Lancelot was staring at your slightly frowned face. It suited you, the seriousness. Not that he didn't enjoy your other expressions as well. 

"You're staring," you said as you still tried to think of a solution to the problem at hand but couldn't concentrate once you felt his gaze on you.

"I am."

You looked up from the wound at him and smirked. 

"A bit impertinent, aren't you?" you said and Lancelot visibly frowned.

"Am I?" He was a bit confused. Was there something wrong about staring at people? He knew, as a pious man he shouldn't look at women a certain way, or better yet, not at all. But since he renounced this way of living, wasn't he free to look?

You could see the confusion on his face very clearly and you wondered what was so incomprehensible about the fact that he shouldn't stare at women. Or people in general.

"It's considered rude to stare at people."

"But people stare at me all the time," he said back. Great point, you had to give it to him.

"Doesn't make it any less rude," you said quietly and went to fix some antiseptic for the wound. You'd have to go by try and see method here. "Moreover, staring at a woman like that... first, you could give her a wrong idea, which is wrong in itself, but even worse is, that if we were in public, you'd give the wrong idea to the crowd."

"The wrong idea?" he said and briefly thought about it before he added: "What if the idea is correct? Am I allowed to stare then?" 

You almost spilt the half-done mixture on the floor from the shock. Either he was very clueless about what was "the wrong idea" about, or he had to be delirious. 

"Lancelot, I don't know what _you're_ talking about but _I'm_ talking about marriage, a life-long commitment. Humans, Christians especially, are very... judgy about this stuff when you'Re not married. Now, I'm not a human, you're neither, but I've built myself some reputation here, this is my home, and I'm not about to compromise it."

Lancelot's piercing blue eyes were on you, not moving once from you. It gave you chills. You were no chaste woman, but he had to understand that he had to behave in public, even if, by some off-chance, you two would... end up together. 

"We should marry, then?" he asked and his voice was carrying no hint of amusement. You completely froze in the spot. Come again? Marry?

"Marry?!" came from the door and you turned your head towards Percival who had a face full of sheer horror. He looked at you and you could also feel a bit of hatred, the boy became obviously very dependant on the man who was currently sitting on your bed. 

"Easy, soldier, no one is marrying here. Lancelot just got some bad idea about what 'social rules versus real life' is about."

There was clear and palpable anxiety in the air. Not just from you and the little one, but you realised that Lancelot tensed after your words too and you slapped yourself internally for being so inconsiderate. 

"Okay, everybody, let's calm down. Percival, could you give us some alone time, please? I need to talk with Lancelot about this." 

Your eyes were almost begging the boy to leave but you also didn't want him to wander off somewhere if he was emotional.

"We have to get some things straight and, whatever the result, we'll talk to you then, okay? I promise," you added and tried to placate the boy.

"Okay, you two talk. But I'm waiting right outside," he said and you were sure that he thought you two were just trying to get rid of him to... get to some adult business. He couldn't be further from the truth right then. You nodded at him and he left the room, closing the door behind him. You turned to Lancelot then.

"Look, I take wedding very seriously and I'm not about to tie myself down to a person I barely know. That being said, I'm not a pious woman or someone who 'cherishes' her body that way, most Fey people are very liberal about this like I mentioned earlier. All I wanted to say was, that we would have to be discreet about it. Staring at me - not discreet."

Lancelot was trying to wrap his head around what you were saying but he didn't like it all that much. He had a hard time accepting the fact that his kind was so... liberal about the desires of the flesh. He had an even harder time accepting that you already gave in to those temptations, or at least that's what you were suggesting. Another thing was this secrecy, he didn't want to be ashamed for his affections towards you, they were genuine and they shouldn't be kept as a dirty secret.

"Everything you're saying is making my hair stand, it rubs me the wrong way."

You were looking at him for a moment, noticing his deep frown and tense stance. He was really on edge.

"What exactly?" you asked, trying to get a better understanding of this enigma of a man.

"I don't want to keep this a secret," he said while gesturing between you two. "I don't like how carelessly my kind treats their bodies and I especially don't like that _you_ did it too," he almost growled the last bit and you took an instinctive step back away from him.

"You're jealous," you whispered and his head twitched uncomfortably.

Lancelot was, indeed, taken aback by that. He was jealous. Envy was a mortal sin. 

"A sin creates another sin," he repeated Father Carden's words he used to listen to as a boy in a whisper. 

You were staring at him in disbelief but you also tried to understand him. To emphasise. 

"Lancelot, I know you were taught some things that are... deeply rooted within you. Maybe, that's it to us," you said and gulped down. "Maybe we're too different to be together. Your way of living is...or at least was way different than mine."

You felt a tear slide down your face and you quickly wiped it away and turned your back to him. This was heart-breaking and you hated him and yourself for it. You were a fool to fall for a man such as him. He might be a good person but that doesn't make him a suitable... love interest.

Lancelot was taking in all that was happening before his eyes while he tried to process your words.

"You don't understand, Y/N, this won't be solved by... not being together. Not for me. I want you, desire you, crave you. But not just your body, I want you all to myself and I want you to be mine exclusively."

His words cut into you like a knife to butter. You turned and looked at him once more, even more disbelief in your eyes.

"Lancelot..."

"I'm being greedy, I know, but... I feel marrying you is the right thing to do. Perhaps you're right and it's partly my upbringing speaking but I can assure you that I'm being honest in my intentions here."

You were just standing there, the silence between you two stretching as he was pleading with his eyes to change your mind and you were thinking about it. Damn the irresistible man, he was a silent one usually but he had a way with words when he wanted to, for sure. 

"This is insane," you whispered as you seriously started to consider marriage to this man you knew no longer than a week. A week he stayed in your home, sure, but week none-the-less. You knew some married couples knew each other a shorter time before marriage but that didn't mean you wanted the same fate. 

"Is it really?" he asked.

"Lancelot, have you ever been in love before? Are you now? Are you sure this is not just your body and head waring against each other? Marriage is for life, it's not a fling."

He could tell it worried you greatly and he had to admit that be never felt like this before and he himself wasn't able to put a proper name to the feelings he had. He longed for your body, yes, but he also longed for your company, your witty banter and as much as he felt lost you seemed to be anchored. You had your way of living life and you believed in it and you seemed to be genuinely happy with how things are. He wanted it too.

"I might not know much about feelings but I know I can promise to be loyal to you. I want to be with you," he admitted and his crystal blue eyes were so sincere it took your breath away.

"Very well, then, marriage it is," you said resignedly. "We should tell Percival," you added with a sigh. That was one conversation you didn't look forward to. "But before that, let me apply the treatment on the wound. I'd hate to become a young widow."

Lancelot smiled at that and obediently laid on the bed to let you work. 

* * *

The news of your betrothal was quick to spread. Like a disease, you thought with a gibe. People in the village reacted differently. Some were giving you hateful stares, some even spit on the ground you walked on. Some people were happy and joyous, mostly the free-spirited ones like Heggen or Leiffe who overcame the initial dismay of never sleeping at yours again rather quickly. Rowen seemed to give you a genuine smile which was more than you expected from the man and once you saw him look at Leiffe you had a pretty good idea of what was going on with the two of them and felt happy for your friend as well. 

Lancelot took on the offer to train with the villagers once his wounds got all better. You had no idea if the wound was poisoned or infected still, but you applied some general anti-poison in the morning and some general disinfection in the evening. Whatever the cause, it was getting better at in the end, that was all it mattered. Though you made a detailed observation to decide whether such treatment was really okay. Some of the ingredients from the two salves were not mixing well together. 

Parcival was a bit of hurdle at the beginning, going on and on about some girl called Nimue and her being a Fey Queen. You heard Lancelot say 'Wolf-blood Witch' once, which made the boy fly up with anger. If that was all one person, then you couldn't other than admire her. You've heard the stories about her valiant crusade to safe Fey from the massacres and genocide. 

Three weeks in and all the preparation for a Fey-Christian wedding were finished for you to swore each other your loyalties. In front of the Hidden and God as well.

"You look beautiful," you heard Leiffe from behind and turned to see your friend in a nice clean dress and air woven in an intricate hairdo full of different braids and buns. It made her red hair look like an actual fire, dancing with the sunshine gleam on them. 

"I feel like my stomach's about to jump out of my mouth," you admitted and had to keep down the small dinner from the day before, the last mean you had, though it was midday already. 

"Brides feel nervous I heard," she said and gave it a thought but then she just smiled in encouragement. 

"Yeah... that's it probably." That or the fact that you still felt like you barely knew the man. Or that you had no idea if you two would be... compatible... in intimate relations. This was for life and that was as terrifying as it gets. 

* * *

Lancelot was standing in the small chapel he visited often these past few days. He grew more certain than ever that this was supposed to be his new life, his new direction. It was met with some opposition from Percival who was young and hotheaded and eager to fight but Lancelot felt tired of fighting. He told the young lad he'd train him to the best of his abilities so one day he'd be the warrior for his kind no one has ever seen before.

But this wasn't the time, he waited for you, a bit nervous but most of all excited about it. As he heard the songs of women nearing the chapel, he took a steadying breath and anxiously awaited your arrival. Once his eyes landed on you, his breath was taken away for a moment. He was sure for a moment that you were an angel sent down to save his soul. He banished the foolish and heretic thought. You were a Fey, no angel, but he felt like whoever the Hidden were and whatever they looked like, the Fey should refocus their faith from them towards you.

The whole ceremony was rather quick and it was time for the Fey promises to occur in the nearby forest. Lancelot talked with Heggen about the forest ceremony and knew the basics but he didn't expect it to feel just as serene as the Christian one did. As it neared the part where you were supposed to show each other the Fey markings, he started to get nervous. He touched a leaf and his hand turned green. Some of the villagers who attended and still had a hard time believing he was a Fey gasped. You smiled at him and he looked expectantly at you. 

There was a bashful look at the attendees of your wedding and he wondered for a moment if you were also ashamed of your mark. He soon realised it was more of the placement of it rather than the mark itself as you started to shove down the fabric of the dress to reveal your breasts as much as possible without showing your nipples. His eyes were fixed on the pale skin covered in golden pattern. Poison Ivy. It looked like actual golden veins, not a tattoo. It could be easily described as ugly, the golden lines burying into your skin, as if someone etched thick golden threads into your skin. He found it fascinating and once he looked at you and then at the crowed, he was pleased by the astonished faces of many men. Means not many have seen. 

* * *

Thedreaded wedding night was here and you were a nervous wreck. It irked you how calm Lancelot seemed to be. You were the experienced one, he was the virgin, how fair is this? How is he not nervous at all?

"You seem to be very collected for a freshly married man," you said and couldn't help but squirm in front of your bedroom. So unnecessary, it's not like he hasn'tbeen there. He's been living there for a month now, in fact. 

He took your hand in his and raised it to his lips to place a chaste kiss on it. His eyes were on you, watching for the smallest changes in your expression. His attention was making you even more nervous and also it dawned on you just how much he really wants this. Or maybe he was just that intense. 

"I don't feel collected. I feel impatient," he said and opened the door to lead you in. 


End file.
